


A Fake Empire Christmas

by Alsike



Series: Fake Empire [2]
Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Assuming everyone celebrates christmas is something I hate, But new parents having to deal with a child's christmas expectations, Christmas, F/F, that's interesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alsike/pseuds/Alsike
Summary: Didi's first Christmas with her new parents goes about as smoothly as one would imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From LJ:  
> Title: Fake Empire Christmas Spectacular (part 1 of 2)  
> Author: Alsike  
> Rating: PG-13 (Possibly more F-bombs than usual, but it's the holidays...)  
> Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds   
> Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss, other Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss   
> Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe [info]wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the song by The National.   
> Apologies: Happy Christmas! Or other holiday/lack of holiday of your choice!

Prologue:

“I don’t do holidays,” said Emma, irritably. The semester had been fucking annoying, and it wasn’t even over yet, and she just wanted a _break_ from all this pressure. But no. It was the holidays.

“Honey,” said Logan, taking out his cigar. “You’ve got kids. You’d _better_ do holidays, or you’ll be having a mutiny on your hands.”

“What do you _do_ on holidays?”

Logan shrugged. “I usually take my girls camping, but I doubt that’s your shot of bourbon.”

Emma groaned and leaned against the counter of the faculty kitchen. Jean interrupted her solitude a moment later.

“I heard you were wondering what to do for Christmas.” Jean grinned. It was clear she was enjoying this far too much.

“I am sure any input you would have would be exceedingly enlightening.”

“Designing your Christmas traditions is a very important part of becoming an independent adult.”

“I _am_ an adult. What I am _not_ is a fan of meaningless calendrical events that are associated with greed, sloth, and gluttony.”

“You’ve never spent Christmas with Emily before?”

Emma frowned. “Once. It was an accident. I didn’t realize what day it was. I was in DC for a meeting, and I didn’t want to get a hotel, so I stopped by. She had me come to her office Christmas party. I made her boss incredibly jealous, and her so-called best friend incredibly annoyed.” The memory of satisfaction was still strong. And fucking Emily in the FBI bathroom was not something she would ever stop reminiscing fondly about. “We had sex. It wasn’t particularly festive sex. It was just sex. Don't get any ideas.”

“No presents?”

Emma grinned. “Not… precisely.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “I’m not the one with the ideas.” Not for the first time she sympathized with Ororo’s rant about how it was a travesty that her dear childhood friend should be stuck with a shallow, sex-obsessed irritant like Emma Frost. But, well, it wasn’t like Emily was _complaining._

Emma grinned again and licked her lips absently.

“ _Anyways_ , Emma. Usually what people do is they take the family traditions they like best and combine them into a new tradition. Kids like patterns, so tradition is good.”

Emma called Emily and proposed this solution.

“Any family traditions you particularly liked?”

Emily furrowed her brow. “I don’t think we had family traditions. There was usually a big party, and I had to wear a dress, which was terrible. Then some well-meaning elder would offer me Champagne, and I would embarrass myself in front of various political and religious leaders, and wake up the next morning to my mom on the phone, averting some crisis that I had caused at said party, with a pounding headache.”

Emma laughed. “You were a little lush, weren’t you?”

“It made me feel happy, for a little bit.”

“I know,” Emma said softly, and shook her head. This was terrible. “My family had a really wonderful tradition of trying to find the most horrible disgusting thing and wrapping it very fancily to fool the recipient into thinking it was something good. It was mainly amongst my sisters and I. My father found it hilarious, and my mother was too out of it to notice. A win was three points, excitement, disappointment, and then horror. I think I was ten when my sister started it with something easy, dog feces, because she was too lazy to go shopping. The last time she got me, I had probably done something to deserve it, because she strangled my pet chinchilla, shaved it, and wrapped it up for me. The next year I gave her photos of her boyfriend having anal sex with a transsexual male prostitute, and a positive VD exam.” Emma actually giggled, as if the joy of vengeance was still very present with her. Emily cringed.

“How about we let that one die?”

“The underage hangovers as well?”

“And the incredibly boring adult parties.”

“But we need some sort of ritual humiliation. I’ve heard this is very important.”

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something,” Emily commented dryly. Being young was often humiliation enough. “So now we know what we won’t do. What should we actually do?”

“Maybe we should make a list.”

Emily nodded. “Tree or no tree?”

Emma grimaced. “I’m generally against nature of any sort inside houses.”

“I’m against dragging a tree up five flights of stairs to my apartment.”

“Good.” Emma jotted a note on the margin of her grade book. “No tree.”

“Church?”

“Kill me first.”

Emily laughed. “When we lived in the Ukraine, we would have the party, get incredibly sloshed, and then go to Church until 3 in the morning. Church is incredibly more interesting when the walls are spinning. The chanting, and the images moving, and Jesus’ corpse reaching out for you-“

“No! No church. I’ve had enough near-death experiences, I don’t need to simulate one.”

“Presents? Real ones, not your type.”

Emma winced. “It would probably be excessively unkind…”

“Morning or Evening?”

“Morning.”

“Why?”

“You have to torture them a little bit!”

“Food?”

“Oh, god. I don’t know. We were a ham family, and I stopped eating pork at age 12, so I fasted most of the time.”

Emily started to smile. “That gives me an idea.”

“Becoming Hindu?”

“How about I handle dinner and you take breakfast, and we’ll play the rest by ear?”

“Meaning react when Deirdre starts to whine about something?”

“Exactly.”

“All right. That sounds fine with me.”

“Good… when are you coming out?”

“Last day of classes is on the eighteenth, so… by the twenty-first?”

“I’ll tell Deirdre you’re coming on the nineteenth.”

“Bitch.”

“You know it.”

* * *

The morning of the nineteenth, Emma dropped her bag next to the sofa, pulled Emily into her arms and held her there for a minute. Emily didn’t bother trying not to cling.

“You know,” she said, conversationally. “Perhaps she doesn’t even know what Christmas is. They might not have had it on her world.”

Emily tipped her head towards the door where a crayon sketch of a Christmas tree was hanging askew. “School.”

“I _see_.”

“It’s very liberal. She taught me to cook potato latkes, and we had a long productive discussion on the merits of Ramadan, delayed gratification, fasting and charitable acts.”

“The verdict?”

Emily grinned. “While charity is all well and good, holidays should be about getting presents.”

“And the Free Market faith has yet another adherent.”

Emily tapped her nose and Emma tipped her head to kiss her.

* * *

12/20

“What do you mean we’re not getting a tree!” Didi exclaimed, like a CEO admonishing her idiot underlings.

Emily gave Emma a desperate glance, but Emma rolled her eyes and lifted up her paperback, sending a clear wordless message: Grow a backbone, _darling_. Jubilee, in the middle of packing to spend Christmas in Connecticut with the Kishi family and then New Years at the St. Croix cabin in Vermont, paused to watch the show and grin.

“We live in an apartment, 5 stories up and no elevator. We’re not getting a tree. We can go to JJ’s and look at her tree.”

“But… but where will the presents go?”

This was not a question that had occurred to Emma or Emily. They exchanged a look.

“We could do shoes?” offered Emily. “You know, Dutch?”

Emma covered her eyes.

“No way!” Didi exclaimed. “Shoes are way too small!”

“And everyone wants their gifts to have the rare and distinctive odor of foot.”

“Stockings?”

“Yes, because socks are such an improvement over shoes.”

Emily glowered at both other inhabitants of her once solitary apartment, her hands on her hips. “Well, I don’t know what else to suggest! Underwear has too many holes to successfully contain anything non-human shaped.”

Emma suddenly looked intrigued. “Perhaps…”

“No! No! I don’t want to hear it! Anywhere you’ve gone after mentioning underwear is a not appropriate for small children place!”

Jubilee snorted and hauled Didi off to distract her so her parents could argue.

Eventually they settled on a fake tropical plant and one thigh-high white leather boot.

Garcia, coming by to drop off her special chocolate dipped popcorn balls (made without peanut butter contamination just for Deirdre), spotted the boot and cracked up. Then she decided that it was perfect and in the future she would always include a thigh-high leather boot as part of the decorations.

“Well,” Emma said, glancing over at Emily. “That’s one tradition down.”

* * *

12/21

JJ stared at the woman standing on her drive. She looked at Emily and sighed, shaking her head. “Oh no. No, no, no.”

“JJ.” Emily shrugged unhelpfully. “I’m not going to just leave her at home.”

“Jennifer.” Emma smiled, and ignored JJ’s tense expression as she offered to take her coat. White leather with an artic fox collar, PETA would have a field day with this, JJ thought, on edge, waiting for Emma’s first comment.

But pointedly Emma did not make a comment about the size of the house, nor the mess on the straggly winter lawn. She carefully looked at the overwhelming mass of Christmas decorations, the lights, the tree that was just a little too tall to stand entirely straight, but didn’t comment, nor did she comment on the IKEA furniture, nor even on the first activity, which was cookie baking.

Finally JJ couldn’t take it anymore. “God! Just say it! Insult me! Insult my house! I can’t deal with imagining what you’re thinking!”

Emma was laughing at her. Even Emily was covering her mouth.

“I told you,” Emma said to Emily between gasps. “I knew she couldn’t take me being polite. We have a perfectly functional antagonism, let us get on with it.”

“Fine,” Emily said, shaking her head. “Fine.” She left them, following Didi’s brisk thrust into the familiar house.

“So,” inquired JJ. “The verdict?”

“It's very… picturesque,” said Emma, with a grin. “Almost bourgeois.”

JJ rolled her eyes. “I can take that. My mother’s said worse things. You take this.”

She handed Emma an apron, which Emma raised between two fingers as if holding a particularly monstrous centipede. “Are you serious?”

JJ just turned and beckoned over her shoulder for Emma to follow.

Will was in the kitchen, wearing an apron himself and organizing bags of flour and other accoutrements. He smiled at his wife, and then his eyes widened at the woman following.

“Oh, you’re Emma, right?” Will looked nervous. “I saw you at the party a year ago, but we never officially met. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All of it bad, I assume.” Emma narrowed her eyes. It was rather irritating to have everyone assume a first name familiarity with her. And had they actually met? He was entirely unfamiliar.

Will flushed and shrugged indecisively.

“Well, I’ve never heard anything about you, which suggests that you aren’t all that important. So let’s call it even.”

JJ winced and tried to derail this conversational route. “Henry! Henry! Come out. You know everyone here!”

Henry looked suspicious and peeked out from behind the counter. He shook his head.

“This is Emma. Didi’s other… parent. You’ve met her before.”

Emma glanced down her nose at the small dirty-faced boy, who cowered, and then she looked away.

Henry ducked back behind the counter.

* * *

The cookie baking was going rather smoothly actually, Will mixing, Emily rolling out, Didi and Henry making a mess, JJ trying to keep things off the floor, and Emma supervising. Emma liked supervising. She made critical comments about the decorative patterns chosen for the cookies, which was generally every single type of sprinkle and colored sugar possible. Didi ignored her, but Henry looked worried and tried to be tidier. Emily eventually elbowed her in the side to make her shut up, and handed her the cookie cutter.

The final batch had just gone into the oven when the doorbell rang, and JJ made a small sound of despair before going to answer it. Interested, Emma cast her mind out and winced. It was Jennifer’s mother. She was going to make herself scarce.

“I’ll dry,” she said, giving Will a look to let him know he was washing. Emily blinked, bemused, and looked suspicious. But, in vengeance for making her cut shapes out, Emma blocked her probe, put her nose in the air, and ignored her.

* * *

“Oh! Isn’t she darling! Jenny dear, when are you going to get around to giving me a granddaughter?”

Didi was sitting on Mrs. Jareau’s lap with an expression of ‘who is this woman, and what did I do to deserve such torture?’ JJ met her eyes with an apologetic look.

“Mom…”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. Henry’s lovely, a little apple, just like you were.” She pinched Henry’s chubby cheek. “But you should have gotten on it right away. Farther than four years apart-”

“And they’ll hardly be like siblings, yes mom. I know.” JJ leaned into Emily’s ear. “My brother and I are ten months apart. I didn’t even want to _think_ about sex with a cock for three months afterwards. Just the thought… _ten_ _months_.”

Emily gave her an uncomfortable look. “I, um, never want to think about sex with cocks. Especially not involving your mother.”

“Sorry!” JJ grinned. Finally, the tables had turned!

“You’re this darling’s mother?” Mrs. Jareau inquired of Emily.

“Um, yes?” Emily was never quite sure how to answer that.

“Did you bring your husband?”

“Uh, no.” She flashed her bare hand. “No husband. My, er, girlfriend is around somewhere… probably harassing the help.”

“Girlfriend?” JJ’s mom looked at her curiously. “I always wondered what that was like. You know… sexually.”

Emily’s jaw moved up and down inchoately. JJ covered her face.

“I would have asked Jenny, but all those girls looked so disappointed after the sleepovers, I was sure my little prude of a daughter hadn’t even suggested truth or dare.”

“Mom!”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “JJ had a lot of girlfriends?”

“She was a lesbian magnet. And until she was fifteen, she was the perfect tomboy. Her sister finally took her aside and taught her the female mysteries. It didn’t stop her from coming home covered in mud at least once a week.”

JJ groaned. “I’m just going to go find Emma and get a little more humiliated, all right?”

* * *

Emily had decided that tonight was just a night for weird things to happen, Emma volunteering to help with the dishes, Didi actually not being blatantly rude to JJ’s mom… Finally escaping from the living room where JJ’s mom was now busy grilling Will, she slipped into the kitchen and walked in on JJ and Emma standing together and _laughing_ about something. This was utterly bewildering.

“What’s… going on?”

JJ just covered her mouth, unable to stop laughing.

Emma gave her a somewhat disparaging grin. “Only-children wouldn’t understand.”

“Oookay,” Emily ducked out to go look for Didi and Henry. They were only-children too at least.

JJ turned to Emma, still snickering occasionally. She shook her head. “Older sisters really do suck.”

Emma nodded. No one could top Adrienne, but barring outright murder, Jennifer’s sister could give anyone a run for her money.

JJ sighed, glancing toward the doorway that Emily had departed through. “My mom keeps hassling me about having more, to keep Hen from being lonely. But.” She grimaced. “Not yet.”

“Can’t face it?”

JJ eyed Emma speculatively. “What about you?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Going to give Didi a little sister to tyrannize?”

Emma looked horrified at the prospect. “Why would you even-“

But JJ’s expression flickered from amused to pensive and considering. “Kids… are something Emily’s always wanted, I think. But she would never let herself have some just because she wanted to. It would be irresponsible, and… it seems like, she thinks she’s undeserving. But she does deserve to have that liveliness in her life. It’s good for her. She always seems to walk a little too close…” She couldn’t finish it. Emma could.

“To death.” She knew exactly what JJ meant, and she wasn’t afraid of the words. She didn’t believe in jinxes or curses, especially not ones that it was far too late to stop.

JJ nodded uncomfortably. “So Didi was perfect. It forced her hand. But she deserves to get what she wants, once in her life, and maybe she wants more.” JJ shrugged. “You could ask.”

Emma’s lips tightened. She really couldn’t. And even if she did-

The timer went and there was a small stampede as Didi came charging in, followed by Emily with Henry on her shoulders.

“Cookies now!”

JJ shooed them away from the stove. Emily set Henry on his feet and he babbled at her for a moment about the colored sprinkles he had put on his gingerbread men, and then let Didi drag him off. Emily straightened, smiling, dragging her fingers through her hair. “You done with your secret ‘I have siblings’ talk now?”

Something bitter and possessive uncurled in Emma’s stomach. The feeling was familiar enough. The image was new though. She reached out, catching Emily around her waist and reeled her in.

“Hey!”

JJ glanced over, rolled her eyes, and turned back to the cookies.

Emma nosed her way into Emily’s hair. “You smell like small child,” she muttered, and Emily squirmed in her grip until she could look her in the eye. She caught Emma’s chin and held her still so she couldn’t look away. Emma wasn’t about to.

“I know that look,” Emily murmured. “Save it for later, okay? JJ’s mom is way too interested. No free shows.”

* * *

Dinner was pork-chops, mashed potatoes and peas. Emma shifted hers around on her plate and ate nothing. Didi and Henry made messes in their mashed potatoes until JJ snapped at them and made them stop.

Emily tried to dodge probing questions from JJ’s mother.

“Mama!” cried Henry. “I can’t get my peas with my fork! They run away!”

Frustrated and tired, JJ covered her eyes. “Pick them up with your fingers. I don’t care!”

Henry’s eyes widened and he looked like he was going to cry. “But, but it’s _bad_ to use my fingers.” (Didi was having no compunctions about it.)

“It doesn’t _matter_.”

Henry scrunched up his face and looked like he was about to wail. Emma had had enough and leaned over to put a knife in his hand. “Use this. Hold your fork flat and don’t stab. It is appropriate to use your spoon. Do _not_ use your fingers.”

Henry stared at her with wide eyes. JJ was certain he was going to cry at any moment. But he looked back down at his plate and approached his peas with a determined and careful technique. When his plate was clear Henry cast Emma a shy searching look.

After dinner was finished there was coffee. Henry crawled behind the couch and out the other side. Then he tugged on Emma’s pants-leg. Emma looked at him. Henry put his arms up. Emma narrowed her eyes, but Henry kept his arms up and stuck out his lower lip.

Emma gave up and shifted slightly so he could climb up next to her. He moved easily and confidently into her lap. Emily sat on her other side and grinned. “Taken a shine to you?”

“I can’t imagine why.”

JJ, moving around with the coffee pot, rolled her eyes. “Neither can I.”

* * *

Didi was asleep by the time they made it home, and Emma carried her into her room and put her to bed. When she came out, Emily was in the kitchen, making tea. She glanced up and smiled.

“Do you want me to make you a sandwich?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I _can_ fend for myself.”

“I _can_ make a sandwich for you as well. It really doesn’t take that much effort.”

Emma shrugged and leaned on the counter across from her. “Well, that was a vilely suburban evening, wasn’t it?”

Emily pushed her tea over and rummaged in the refrigerator. “Refreshingly unique, really.”

Emma laughed. “True enough. Even Jean doesn’t try to get me to make cookies anymore. She says I spoil the festive atmosphere.”

“It’s part of your charm.” Emily put the second slice of bread on, cut the sandwich diagonally, and pushed it alongside the tea. Emma lifted one edge of the crust and eyed it suspiciously.

“It actually looks edible.”

“I _can_ cook, you know.”

“You microwave excellently.” Emily rolled her eyes. Emma ate some. “And apparently you have developed a flair for sandwich making.”

“I have a harsh taskmistress these days.”

“That’s true.”

Emily propped her chin up on the heels of her hands, elbows on the counter, and just watched her. Finally Emma met her eyes.

“What?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Emily said, her tone and expression still far too pleased.

“ _What_?” She could check, but she knew Emily would cave, and it was more entertaining to whine.

Emily leaned over the counter and kissed her, a chaste press of lips on lips. Then sauntered out of the kitchen, past her. “Henry likes you best,” she said, unable to hide her amusement, and Emma rolled her eyes, slid off the stool, and followed her to bed.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

12/22

“What do you _mean_ you haven’t done any shopping yet?”

Emma stiffened. “What? I’m not used to… trying to get things that people will actually _want_.”

“You read minds! How hard can it be?”

Emma frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually implying I get people what they _really_ want for Christmas, because I’m rich, and a superhero, but I still think that’s beyond me.”

Emily blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s take your friend Morgan, for example. What he really wants is to wake up on Christmas morning and find out that he doesn’t have job anymore, because there is no more need for what you do, no more children in trouble, or women getting murdered.”

Emily nodded, that sounded about right.

“And then Penelope, what she wants most of all is to finish the coding project she’s been working on for years. But _she_ wants to have done it. Barring that, she wants to have time to finish it, so you know, if I end all murder and violence to children I’ll at least have most of _your_ colleagues covered.” Emma thought for a moment and frowned. “Mine would probably be satisfied with that as well, actually.”

“I think a lot of people would.”

“I would. If I could have done it I would have done it for purely selfish reasons ten years ago, but unfortunately, I can’t. Plan B?”

“What do you usually get people?”

“Something that they don’t want, but will probably be better for having.”

“Like?”

“For Morgan? Maturity. Penelope? An instruction manual on how not to meddle in other people’s business. Jennifer? Just a taste of sensitivity to other people’s feelings.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Try this. Get people not what they want, nor what they deserve, but something they will like. Okay?”

“I’m a telepath, not a precognitive.”

“Take an educated guess.”

* * *

“So, what do you want for Christmas?”

The dead silence on the other end of the line suggested that Jubilee had shoved the phone into the bedspread so it wouldn’t pick up the sounds of her amusement. “This is new for you, isn’t it?”

“Dickens _lied_ ,” Emma snapped. “Even if Ebenezer Scrooge decided to turn over a new leaf, there’s no way he would have any idea how he was supposed to make people happy. Being insensitive to other people’s wants is a character trait, not a conscious decision.”

“I see,” Jubilee said, and rattled off a list of six CDs. Then she paused. “Actually, what I really want is a copy of _Kunstmythologie,_ by Böttiger, but it’s been out of print since 1811. Still, if you never ask for impossible things you never get miracles.”

Emma snorted. “1811. Okay. How are things in Connecticut?”

“Cold. There’s like a foot of snow outside.”

From the background of the room Emma heard Janine’s calm sarcasm correct the measurement. “Three inches.”

“And Nini’s little sister has been freaking out the whole time about how she can’t believe her boring sibling is dating someone ‘like her.’” There was a small groan from the background. “I think someone’s little sister has a bit of an incest obsession.”

This groan was decidedly louder.

* * *

Emma lay flat on her stomach across from where Didi was playing intently with Emily’s CDs and eyed her carefully. Unfortunately, although she wasn’t even from this universe, her DNA was still close enough to Emma’s to make mind-reading impossible. But she was _four_. She shouldn’t be that hard to please.

“What do _you_ want for Christmas?”

Didi eyed her. “Don’t go back to school,” she said, and Emma groaned internally. It was worse than Emily. She had taken her annoyed remark as permission to have a look around, but when she triggered the response by asking, “Well, what do you want then?” she had been hit by a flood of images and feelings that were all about her, about making Emily feel safe, and not leaving her alone again, and being something like a _family_ , and then Emily had jerked them back, looked away, and muttered something about never having enough socks.

Sometimes people in general were really irritating.

 

12/23

“It looks like the BAU needs a daycare,” Rossi said grimly. Garcia chuckled.

“I think Morgan’s got it covered.” He was currently being a climbing gym for both Didi and Henry, and even Jack was hanging out with them and being amused against his will.

Garcia smiled wider when she noticed Emma, leaning against the wall outside the bathrooms looking bored in a clingy long-sleeved dress that cupped her hips and barely touched her thighs. She was… making an impression. And this year had clearly been made to wait outside.

And then she saw Hotch notice Emma, and begin to move towards her, and Emma, sensing it, looked up, and started cutting the distance between them down.

* * *

“Ms Frost,” Hotch said, his eyes narrowing as they fell on her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I can’t imagine why not.”

Hotch looked at Emma, his eyes slightly narrowed. “I doubt that.”

And it was blatantly obvious, since he was broadcasting it like a shortwave radio. “Finding a woman who has a child less attractive is _your_ problem, not mine.”

“That’s rather unexpected, coming from you.”

Emma did not like his composure. “Why would you say that?”

“Because of the way you’ve treated her for the last three years.”

She laughed. “Have you been profiling me?”

“It’s my job, and it’s my job to make sure my team is _safe_.”

Emma scowled. He had no right to talk about safety. Baring her teeth in a grimace, she snapped back at him. “Good job of that you’ve done so far then. How many fucking times have I had to come find her in a hospital?”

Hotch didn’t flinch. “You’re here because of me, because you’re too selfish to let her find someone else, who will actually care and give her the attention she needs.”

“Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

“I had to recalibrate when I saw you here. You really are even more selfish than I thought. Your need for casual sex, casual relationships, even your casual attitude when saving the _world_ made me certain that you were revolted by responsibility. But you’re still here. You must be even more reluctant to let her go than deal with her new charge.” Hotch shrugged. “But Emily never asks for anything. She was probably far too eager to reassure you that she’d still never ask anything of you. She must do that all the time as it is.”

Emma watched him think, a small nasty smile on her lips. It was funny, she thought, how he was more right about her than he was about Emily. But perhaps he thought that Emily was the same with everyone as she was with him. She never asked him for anything, just showed how competent and eager for action she was and waited to be acknowledged. She didn’t really ask Emma things either. She demanded things, sometimes politely, sometimes not.

“You think she doesn’t ask me for anything?” Emma inquired, passing the tip of her tongue over her lips. “I could give you a list, from just, last, _night_.” One of them had been ‘please just _try_ to be nice at the party tomorrow.’ She had tried. This really wasn’t her fault.

Hotch’s sour expression became even more disapproving. “It’s not like her begging for a fucking requires a great sacrifice on your part.”

And she had got him to swear. She wasn’t even the one who had brought up _sex_. Perfect. “Oh, I did most of the begging last night.” She fingered the sleeve of her sweater-dress, not quite tugging it down enough to reveal anything, but close enough to hint. “You think you could handle that? You ever begged for a fucking?” She looked at him, seeing the reflection of her hard blue eyes in his brain, loving the panicked desperation as he tried to control his arousal. “You ever begged for a whipping?” All these serial-killer-hunters had too much experience with the sick side of humanity to be honestly shocked. They knew their own darkness. Perhaps that was why she got on so well with all of them. “Did you really think that your limited experience could ever satisfy _her_? She comes from Hellfire. It’s in the blood.”

“Um.” It was Emily’s voice. She looked… less than amused. Emma grinned.

“Hey.” Emma caught her before she could escape and reeled her in, rubbing against her and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “I was just chatting with your colleague.”

“My boss,” Emily muttered, half in her brain. But the tension had melted from her frame when Emma’s arms had closed around her. Anyways, Emma wasn’t about to give him that title. Emily had been a department head herself, even if it hadn’t been for a long time. A deposed king never became a pawn.

“He was just wondering how I was getting along with Deirdre.”

Emily scowled up at her. Emma did like wearing heels, and would wear them even if the only benefit was the added four inches. “She likes you better than me. You know I hate that. And I hate it when you call just to talk to her.”

And that was better than she could have said it herself. “It’s self preservation, darling. If I talk to you, I need a good fifteen minutes alone afterwards.”

Emily snorted. “And that’s why you send me dirty texts while you’re teaching?” Then she flushed, remembering they had an audience. She glanced back at Hotch, her mouth twisting in embarrassment. “Not that I check them during work though.”

Hotch smiled coldly. “I think I will excuse myself. I hope you have a pleasant holiday, Agent Prentiss.” He looked at Emma. “Miss Frost.” He slipped away into the crowd.

“What did you say to him?” Emily hissed. “I’ve never seen him that angry.”

“Oh you have no idea! He started it.”

“ _Emma_.”

Emma scowled. “Don’t scold me. I did what you asked. I tried. It’s not my fault if he decided to be a jerk.”

Emily gave up.

* * *

“I’m sorry if Emma said something she shouldn’t have.”

Hotch looked at her, his face impassive. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”

Emily smiled awkwardly. “I’m usually busy apologizing for myself.”

Hotch’s brows drew together. “You mistake me. You shouldn’t have to _be_ with someone you have to apologize for.”

“She’s not that bad,” Emily said, watching him, utterly bewildered, and starting to have the sneaking suspicion that whatever Emma had said to him, her annoyance hadn’t actually been unfounded. “She can be abrasive sometimes, but she’s… she’s a good person. I may apologize for her words, but I never have to apologize for her actions, and that’s what’s important.”

“You _never_ have to apologize for her actions?”

And this was _none_ of his business. Profilers had to know when their judgments were welcome and when they were way overstepping the line. And this was clearly rumor and hearsay, no facts at all. “Has she done something to you? Or have you been listening to rumors? I know what she’s done. I probably know a _lot_ more than you do. But _she_ apologizes for the actions she thinks deserve an apology. It has nothing to do with me.”

Hotch looked unmoved, and Emily frowned. “Look.” She sighed. “This is my family. Emma and Didi are my family now, and if Emma said something because she was being protective of me, she has a right to do that, and I’m not apologizing for that. You may be my boss, but that doesn’t give you the right to criticize my family. And if you said anything to her that made her upset…“

“You deserve someone better than her.”

“I don’t deserve anything! I _have_ her! Maybe only on long weekends and vacations, but I can deal with that, because she comes home when she can. She makes time for us. I’m the one who’s selfish, who risks my life and works too much overtime. I don’t want to think about what I deserve, because I _don’t_ deserve this.”

Emily turned and walked away.

* * *

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him!” Emily said, mainly to her drink. Morgan glanced over.

“You mean Hotch?”

“He’s being… strange. Does he really hate Emma that much?”

Morgan shrugged. “He probably thought Emma would freak and bail when she found out that you had a daughter. And then he thought he’d have a chance with you.”

Emily stared at him. “With _who_?”

“With you.” Morgan raised an eyebrow.

“Wi- w- _seriously_?”

Morgan grinned. He waved a hand around. “You know, you’re kind of fucking hot. And after Emma started showing up you only got hotter. Satisfied is a good look on you. And some guys, they don’t really notice people until someone else has taken an interest.” Morgan shrugged. “Miss _Frost_ kind of showed up and took an interest in a big way. And someone might have not realized he wanted a chance until the opportunity was gone.”

“Oh God,” Emily covered her eyes with her hands. “ _You_ noticed this?”

“I am a _sensitive_ and emotionally mature male.”

“And I am really, really not.”

“Well, you’re definitely not a male.” Morgan patted her on the shoulder.

Emily glanced uncomfortably over towards Hotch. “Should I feel guilty about this? Did I… do something?”

“No,” said Morgan flatly. “To both questions. If anything you let everyone know that you were taken, and you were happy. Maybe you had problems, but it was really clear that you’re happier when she’s around than when she’s not. And if someone just can’t take a hint, it’s not your fault at all.”

“Emma has someone like that,” Emily said quietly. “I hate him and he hates me. He wanted to keep Didi at the school.”

Morgan looked horrified. “But-“

“He had a reason. It was a stupid one, but he had a reason.” Emily shook her head. “God. It’s like Emma getting mad at me because I was rude to _Scott_.”

* * *

At least Deirdre wasn’t annoyed with her. She wasn’t paying any attention to her, but she was happily hiding under one of the tables with Henry, devouring their secreted treasure trove of cookies. Jordan was feeding them extra chocolate. Emma was just keeping an eye on things.

“She said you were her family.”

Emma flinched and turned to face Hotch. Had he been drinking? He looked flustered and annoyed, far more than usual. She checked. Emily had snapped at him and walked away. Good for her. She had said they were family? That was… She looked over, finding Emily talking to Morgan, looking fairly miserable. She had told _Hotch_ they were family. What did that even mean?

“ _So_?”

“Why are you here? She’s not _yours_. You’re _not_ family.”

His surface thoughts burned. He thought Emily was being manipulated by her, mentally overcome and controlled. She was _different_ now, he realized that at least. And she was. She was more confident, more assertive, not as reckless or as desperately heroic as she had been, and he thought that meant there was something _wrong_ with her? Emma went pale with anger. It took all her self-control to keep from lashing out at this man’s mind, grabbing a rough handful of painful memories and _twisting_.

“You don’t understand at all, do you?” she said softly. “Deirdre is mine, and Emily is mine, and if you even _look_ at my property in the wrong way, I am not responsible for what I will do to you.”

And she didn’t touch him. She would not lower herself enough to make his hateful theories true. But apparently the look on her face was terrifying enough. He ran, like a puppy with his tail between his legs.

* * *

“Hey.” This time Emily was the one to break the personal space bubble and lean in, wrapping her arms around Emma’s waist. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said Hotch was being a jerk.”

“You believe me now?”

“He was a jerk to me too.”

“I may… have fixed that problem.”

Emily looked at her, disbelief on her face, but there was no lack of understanding. Then she sighed, and leaned her head against Emma’s shoulder. “Oh Emma.”

“I didn’t touch him. I wanted to though. I just scared him.” Emma smiled, but only half way. “I couldn’t make you a liar.”

Emily smiled into her neck. “You’re probably a better person than I am right now.”

“And why would you say that?”

“You don’t think I would lobotomize Scott if I could?”

* * *

They went home then, put Didi to bed with a suitably traumatizing episode regarding the Ghost of Christmas Present, and collapsed on the sofa.

“I hate Christmas movies,” Emma said flatly.

Emily leaned back against her shoulder, letting out as small sigh. “Me too,” she said. They didn’t turn them off though. There was something about Christmas movies that was like a train wreck. You just had to watch it happen.

Emma’s arms looped around Emily’s middle as things started to get worse, and when the man was on the bridge, looking down into the icy river below, her grip tightened. Emily made a sound, looking up at her. Emma looked back, but couldn’t say it. She leaned into her instead, burying her face in her hair.

<< Sometimes I think I’ve made that wish too many times. But this time, maybe it’s selfish, but even if things would be better for everyone, I’d never give this up to wish I had never been born. >>

 

12/24

“What are you doing?” Emma wandered in to the kitchen and over to the espresso machine.

Emily’s hands were all floury and she had her laptop open on the counter.

Emma leaned over and eyed the concoction. “Are you _kneading?_ ”

Emily glared. “You said I was cooking tonight. Go away.”

Emma opened the lid of the pan bubbling on the stove and peered in. “Are you making _beans_?”

“Out!”

Emma rescued her coffee and evaded floury hands, escaping into the living room. She dropped on to the sofa and put her feet up.

“There’s never anything to do the morning of Christmas Eve.”

“If you’re not cooking!” Emily yelled from the kitchen.

Didi came out of her room, rubbing her eyes. “Is it Christmas yet?”

“Not yet.”

She crawled up onto the couch into Emma’s lap. She investigated the coffee, made a face and then curled up, and to all appearances went back to sleep. Emma thought it was a good idea and followed suit.

* * *

“I’m just really not sure that this is a good idea.” Emily held the phone on her shoulder and prodded her spice cabinet. “So what am I supposed to do again? Put a _tea bag_ into the pot?”

“That’s how I learned to cook Indian lentils. I’ve never made Ukrainian ones before.”

Emily groaned. “God, what am I doing?”

On the other end, Ro laughed. “You’re making Didi and Emma eat _lentils_ for Christmas dinner. Tell me there’s some sadism at work here.”

“Maybe,” Emily grinned. “I already got mocked for kneading. And no one is offering to help.”

* * *

Things were rising and settling, and Emily emerged from the kitchen.

“I’m bored,” said Emma, petulantly.

“Me too,” chimed in Didi.

Emily glared at both of them. There was a Christmas movie on, and Didi’s entire box of crayons were spread across the floor. There seemed to be efforts on the scattered papers from both of them.

“How about we clean the house?”

Twin unimpressed looks pinned her to the wall.

“You could have helped me cook.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “You threw me out of the kitchen.”

“You were mocking my kneading!”

“Still bored,” whined Didi.

Emily checked her watch. “We could go to church?”

Didi cringed, and Emma made a face. “Church is _boring_ ,” stated Didi emphatically.

“Not in the mood for sanctimonious condescension right now.”

Emily grinned. She had known that wouldn’t go over well, but just wanted to see them both shoot her down in exactly the same way. “Walk to the park?”

This was received with general approbation and they put on their coats and headed down to the street. It was only a few blocks to the nearest park with a playground. Once there, Didi took off for the slide.

Emma shifted her weight a few times. Emily watched her and waited for her to speak.

“Do you want to spar?”

Emily started, not expecting that. She glanced around, but the park was mostly empty. They probably wouldn’t get arrested this time. “Okay,” she said, and started taking off her coat.

Emily liked sparring with Emma. It had started with an insult, of course, when she had ended up concussed _again_ because an unsub had gotten in a lucky shot. Emma, picking her up from the hospital, since she mysteriously always showed up whenever Emily was injured, had glared at her. “Do you even know how to fight?”

Emily had glared back. “Of course I know how to fight.”

And then she had spent the next three days throwing objects of various size and weight at Emily and telling her that she was a disgrace to the federal government. Emily finally had enough and, just to demonstrate, threw a punch, which Emma blocked with such a derisive expression on her face that Emily had to hit her, and that escalated into them breaking a table lamp.

They tried to do it outside now.

When the coats had been piled up on one of the swings, they started circling each other slowly, trying to work up a reason to start the fight. Emily glanced at Emma’s outfit, ponytail, t-shirt.

“You’re wearing sneakers?”

Emma shrugged. “What of it?”

“You were planning this, weren’t you?”

Emma grinned. “What can I say? I was bored.”

“And you needed to hit something.”

“I thought it might as well be you.”

“Bet you can’t.”

And that was all that was necessary. Emma moved in. The first one would be a feint, a punch. And then her balance shifted, and Emily skidded backwards to avoid the kick. Emma saw her overreach to get out of range, and redoubled for another shot. And Emily stepped in instead, to the side, and reached out, just flicking her nose with two fingers.

“Point for me.”

Emma lunged for her and grabbed the front of her shirt. Emily twisted, hooking a foot around her ankle, trying to bring her down, but Emma stepped in, knocking her off balance, and as Emily squirmed to get free her shirt rode up and got caught under her arms. She couldn’t move without either losing her shirt entirely or getting choked by the collar.

“Okay,” she managed, trying not to laugh. “I yield. Give me my shirt back.”

“I would,” Emma replied. “But I think I’m stuck.”

“You are both idiots,” said Didi, watching them flatly from a swing.

* * *

“Seriously? You’re making us suffer Ukrainian food because I wouldn’t let you take us to church?” Emma was grinning though, so she wasn’t actually annoyed. It was probably a result of the shower. It had been a good shower.

“It’s not _really_ Ukrainian. And it’s entirely sauerkraut free.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

Didi looked suspiciously at the table. “It’s fish.” She eyed Emily. “And beans.”

Emily gave her a look. “Christmas is a fasting day, not a feasting day.”

Didi gave her a look right back, indicating, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I know you’re wrong anyway.’

Emily had given up on the Ukrainian lentils and had followed Ro’s directions to make Indian ones instead. Cod was boring so she had shaken Cajun spice mix over it until it was black and red before frying it, and the bobal’ki hadn’t risen properly and were as hard as rocks, though thoroughly drenched in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds. But the rice was fine.

“Yuck,” said Didi.

“This is what we eat for Christmas,” Emily said flatly.

Didi turned her gaze to her M’ma. “ _Really?_ ”

Emma grinned. “Oh yes. It’s a tradition.”

While Didi was busy being shocked and horrified, Emma grinned at the chef. She made a vee with her fingers. << That’s number two. >>

* * *

“I want to stay up and wait for Santa!”

Emily glared at the small child, and then glared at Emma for good measure, since she had been teasing her all evening, lounging around barefoot in Emily’s pajama bottoms with her reading glasses on, and Emily really, really wanted to go to bed.

“If you stay up, he won’t come.”

“How does he know if I’m awake or not?”

“He knows because he knows if you’re being bad. And staying up past your bedtime is bad.”

“How does he know if I’m being bad?” Emma flexed her toes, and rolled over on her side, so it suddenly became very apparent that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Because he’s a mutant,” Emily finally invented. “He’s… got a special kind of telepathy, and he can read your brainwaves to know if you’re being bad.”

Didi considered this. “If I was being bad but I thought I was being good, would he get good brainwaves or bad ones?”

“Go to bed! He can read my brainwaves too, and they are sending very clearly right now that Deirdre Victoria Frost is being _bad_.”

Didi stuck her tongue out and then ran for her bedroom. “I want a story! M’ma!”

Emily turned her glare to Emma. “Your daughter wants a story. I am going to close the house and go to bed. I expect you to join me, in one half hour, naked, all right?”

Emma grinned lazily. “Are you going to order me around there too?”

“Story now. Get moving.”

“I want _this_ to be a tradition.”

 

12/25

“It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!”

Didi exclaimed, bouncing up and down in the middle of the bed. Emily groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. “Why do you have to be a normal child in all the really annoying ways?” she mumbled and then stuck her hand out. “Shirt,” she commanded.

Didi, who had presciently collected two shirts off the floor before climbing on the bed handed one over. She was used to the situation by now. Her kindergarten teacher, on the other hand, had been quite a bit more discombobulated when, on being instructed to keep her t-shirt on during naptime, she had informed her that ‘Mommy always sleeps naked when M’ma comes home.’ “Presents now?”

Emma curled herself more firmly into Emily’s naked back and buried her face in her hair. “Make coffee and then we’ll see,” she muttered.

“I can’t make coffee,” Didi complained. “Mommy says I can’t stand on the stool, and if I don’t stand on the stool I can’t reach the machine.”

Emma peered at her. “You can’t make coffee?”

Didi shook her head.

“God. Just tell me-” Emma demanded rhetorically. “What is the point of a minion that can’t make coffee?”

* * *

Emily opened the box, looked inside, and quickly shut the lid again, her face turning red. “You-“

Emma leaned back and grinned. “I know you wanted it. And now I get to enjoy it too.”

Emily evaded her eyes, and they focused on Didi tearing into the next brightly wrapped object with her name on it.

“Didi, who’s that from? You have to not lose all the cards!”

“It’s from ‘Uncle Logan,’” Didi read, giving her an irritated look. Emma and Emily exchanged a bewildered glance. Didi tore into the gift. “A pony!”

It was a pink My Little Pony, with blue hair, and wings. Emma covered her mouth, tucking her knees up, and still let out a fiercely repressed squeak of laughter. “Oh, god. _Logan_.”

* * *

“You found it,” Jubilee said quietly through the phone.

“It wasn’t _that_ difficult,” Emma responded dryly. “I have minions. They can even make coffee. And I have a private jet.”

“Just, you know, thanks.”

Emma smiled wryly, and then caught sight of something she ought to have been paying attention to in the corner of her eye. “Um, you’re welcome. I have to go.”

* * *

“Why is the kitchen smoking?”

“Your fucking toaster!” Emma was scrabbling at what looked like a black crust of bread and sucking on her burnt fingers.

Emily laughed and grabbed a dishtowel to wave away the smoke. “My toaster is fine. Are you seriously not even able to make toast? And you mock my cooking.”

“I can make toast!” Emma snapped back. “I just got distracted.”

Emily sauntered up to her and bumped into her, catching her around her shoulders with the dishtowel. “I win,” she said, and kissed her teasingly. Emma grumbled but didn’t pull away, letting their foreheads rest against each other.

“Stop distracting me,” she muttered. Emily just grinned. “What the fuck are we doing for dinner?”

“I think the Chinese place on the corner is still open.”

“Thank fucking _God_.”

* * *

“So,” Emily said, awkwardly. She hadn’t worn this sort of thing since she was sixteen. “Does it look okay?”

A delicious grin spread across Emma’s face, and she licked her lips. “Oh yes. You know, you would have made a wonderful black queen.”

“Really?”

“Oh most definitely.” And Emma tugged petulantly on the ropes that bound her to the bedpost.

* * *

Emily’s breathing was soft and steady under her hands. Her skin was warm, a little too warm for comfort maybe, but Emma curled into her anyways, tucking her head against her shoulder so her nose was just behind Emily’s ear and her breath ghosted along her neck.

In the end presents were just things, commodities, replaceable. And Holidays were just days, days you were told on which to remember to be grateful and be happy, but you generally forgot. You were supposed to be humble. And perhaps it was worth trying.

Her fingers trailed over Emily’s stomach, and Emily shifted, letting out a small sigh. She rolled onto her back, farther into Emma’s arms and blinked up at her sleepily. “Not asleep?”

“I’m fine,” Emma murmured back. She shouldn’t wake her, not after thoroughly wearing her out. And it wasn’t as if she couldn’t sleep because she was upset. How could she be upset? She had run so hard and so far, as fast as she could, and never left behind the demons crouched on her shoulders. And she was unbearably grateful that this one hadn’t let go. There was no safety in boring and normal, but you could pretend there was.

Emily nuzzled into her, pressing a lazy kiss against her shoulder.

<< Would you still want me if you didn’t need me? >>

Emily was too sleepy to think clearly, but her puzzlement shone through the clouds of exhaustion. “I never needed you,” she mumbled. “Never needed you, just wanted you. _Always_ wanted you. And you needed _something_.”

“And you thought you fit the bill?”

“Go to _sleep_.” Emily squirmed slightly, skin on skin, until they were tangled more comfortably. Emma tightened her arms around her, threading her fingers through her hair. She could feel the flutter of her heartbeat against her chest and let her eyes drift closed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Emma whispered into her hair. “I know I’m selfish, and maybe its selfish, but I’m not letting you go again. The fucking world can go hang. If it means I can keep you even for just a little while, I’ll go to hell for it. If I have to give you up to redeem myself, it’s not worth it.”

Emily made a small noise, but didn’t open her eyes. She just moved closer and burrowed more deeply into Emma’s shoulder.

“You’d probably hate me if I were here every day. But whenever you want me…”

Emily stretched against her, and her mouth moved, breath brushing against her neck as if the words were hers too.

“I’m yours.”

And maybe that was a present that was worth giving.

###


	3. Boxing Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sudden Rating Increase!

Emma sat on the sofa and tugged Emily into her lap, resting her chin on her shoulder.  “Hey.”

“Hey.”  Emily smiled.  “You like Christmas better now?”

“Do you?”

Emily considered this, her eyes closed.  “I think so.  We had a good time, didn’t we?  Overall.”

“Shockingly enough.  With your _lentils_.”

“And your slightly charred toast.”

“Thank god she doesn’t have anything to compare it to.”

“And the truckload of presents probably filled in any gaps.”

Emma suddenly chuckled and Emily glanced around, trying to give her a look.  “I’m still trying to picture Logan buying a My Little Pony.  It will never be anything but hilarious.”

Emily shook her head.  “Didi just has that effect on people.  She wins them over.”  To herself she thought that this Christmas had just been a patch of insanity, what with JJ and Emma _getting along_ , the bedpost incident, and Hotch’s uncomfortable coldness.

“Not your boss.” Sometimes it was unnerving how Emma could know what she was thinking without even using her telepathy.

Emily bit her lip as she considered this.  “You didn’t help with that.”

Emma’s arms locked around her waist and she sank her teeth lightly into Emily’s neck.  Emily shook her head.  That was exactly what she was talking about.  She wasn’t entirely shocked that Hotch had been slightly put-off by Emma’s blatant possessiveness.  Who wouldn’t be?  She just didn’t understand what set Emma off for far too long, long enough to thoroughly embarrass herself and not put a stop to it before it was too late.

Emily respected him so much as a boss and a mentor.  She had never thought of him as anything else, and she certainly hadn’t thought that he might.  (She hadn’t thought that was a possibility.  When he was one of her mother’s bodyguards he had walked in on her going down on her college girlfriend.  If that wasn’t a declaration of homosexuality, what was?)  But Emma had seen something she hadn’t, and dealt with it in her own special way: playing the class card, insinuating things about Emily’s sexual proclivities, and pretty much marking her like a dog protecting his territory.  (She thought the continual rubbing up against her had something to do with scent.  It reminded Emily unnervingly of when Emma was feral.)

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”  Her fingers slipped between Emily’s legs, rubbing against the fabric of her jeans.

“I never did anything to lead him on.”  She shifted slightly, not quite ready for Emma to touch her like that.  But Emma’s other arm snaked around her and held her still.  Her fingers pushed firmly into Emily’s crotch, and Emily opened her legs a little bit wider.

“You didn’t have to.”  Emma’s thumbnail scraped up the central seam of her trousers.  Emily let her head fall back onto Emma’s shoulder.

“You led him on by just being yourself.  Giving him your respect, being absolutely disgustingly charming…” Emma opened her pants and slipped her hand down the front.  Emily moaned and turned towards her, pressing her open mouth against her neck.  “And so, unbelievably gorgeous.”  Her fingers made slow maddening circles over her underwear.  Emily’s fingers dug into the upholstery.  “But he doesn’t know how beautiful you really are.  He’s never seen you like this.  He never will.”  She started to thrust lightly, still outside, still impossibly soft and tantalizing.  “He could never make you feel like this.  He wouldn’t know how.”  Her voice was hot and low in Emily’s ear. 

“He wants you because he thinks you understand him, that you’d forgive him for being selfish and emotionally distant.  His wife forgave him for years, years of bad sex and indifferent parenting, but he didn’t change.  He doesn’t know that you’d never put up with that, not from me, not from him.”  Emma’s fingers slid into her and Emily whimpered, tears in her eyes.  “He’d never fuck you like I fuck you.  He couldn’t tie you up and spank you and torture you until you soak your pants.”  Emma bit down on her shoulder again, harder this time, leaving little red half circles on either side.  “I’m the only one who knows how to take you apart.”

She lifted her knees, her fingers sliding even deeper inside her as she fucked her steadily, turning her into a squirming, mewling mess in her lap.  Emily came hard, soaking her jeans and Emma’s hand.  Emma, leaning into her mind (it wasn’t intentional, but overwhelmed with the need to be close she didn’t have it in her to pull away), drank the feeling down and let it take her over the edge as well.  


End file.
